A Vermilion Allure
by newamericanclassic13
Summary: Summary's inside. GOC --Voldie's in it, I swear! Rated PG-13 for now, the rating might go up. DarkFic, def. R&R, kids, R&R!


_**Summary:**_**A boy brought up in the Muggle world learns that he is the result of a love affair between the most feared evil overlord of the Wizarding world and his right-hand woman. Now pulled into a world of danger, lust, adventure, grief, and most importantly, magic, he must survive a war, fulfill a prophesy, and suffer whatever the slings and arrows of adolescence throws at him.**

**_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing. J.K. Rowling is the almighty money getter..person. Not I. If you are reading Harry Potter fanfiction then you are familiar with the characters, settings, etc. so anything you do not recognize is mine. Like the plot and my O/C. Okay? Alrighty.**

**_A/N:_ Here's the first chapter. I hope it exceeds your expectations, because the description isn't that great. But who has time for a summary on the outside when you can put so much _more_ on the inside? Am I right or am I right? Okay, I'll shut up and let you read, but let me warn you now, I am not the kind of writer who sits down and does complex calculations for her plot. This is what happens: I get inspired, I write. Sometimes it evolves into a story, sometimes it doesn't. But when it is a story, I just _write_. No clue what I'm writing about, I just pray that it will come together in the end. Now, go read, you. **

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**The Vermilion Allure  
**_**Chapter One**: Sky Juice_

There was a clamor behind the wooden pub door. It swung open on creaky hinges, letting a rather startling young man slip out into the back streets of London. It was a downpour, not uncommon weather for a late April evening in England, or any other England evening for that matter. The young man watched the warm yellow light from the inside of the pub reduce to a slit as the door croaked shut again. He shivered and wrapped his now very wet jacket around his person. He could see a chilly vapor rise from between his lips, making him shiver once more. Partly because of the cold, and partly because it had been a very close shave.

A shifty looking woman with long gray hair entered Flourish and Blott's shortly after he had, wearing a black overcoat with a bright red sash around her middle. He could not see her face, as it was hidden behind a thick novel, _So You're A Halfblood, Screw 'Em: A Deeper Look Into Wizarding Prejudice_. But when she sat down a chair away from him, he felt an odd unwieldy demeanor, like a cloud of trouble hovering above him. Auburn irises flickered to the corners of her eyes when she thought he wasn't looking, unnerving amber daggers.

With the tasks at hand and so much to lose, the boy could not raise any suspicion. As elusive as he could, he got up and put down the book he was pretending read, making his way out the door into Diagon Alley. He tried not to look back at the woman, who was stealthily maneuvering after him, her hands suspiciously shoved in her pockets.

The boy kept his pace, the bottoms of his trainers slapping against the damp cobblestone. His jet-black hair was matted to his forehead with sweat and rain, veiling his one hazel eye. His other, a vibrant azure, searched frantically for a hiding spot to slip away into. He cursed his age, wishing he were just several months older so he could conveniently Apparate elsewhere. But nothing is ever convenient for him.

The woman's footsteps were quickening behind him. The boy could feel the vein in his temple throb mercilessly as he, too, began to speed walk. A drop of sweat rolled lazily down the bridge of his pointed nose when he reached Knockturn Alley. He halted at the corner of Knockturn and Diagon under a lonely gas lamp and furtively glanced over his shoulder. The woman had stopped as well, on the opposite side of the street, her hand to her mouth as if she were speaking to it. Immediately he wondered if she were carrying that Muggle device, a walkie-talkie, but then realized that he was in a strictly Wizarding part of London and electronic devices would not work in this magical air, an air that also held an obtuse dubiousness between he and the woman.

The young man busied himself with his watch, trying to avert the woman's attention, but she didn't budge. He slunk into the shadows a bit, slowly backing down the crooked sidewalk of Knockturn Alley. The woman kept still, her eyes boring into him. She could still see him. Suddenly, she took a few paces forward into the lamp light, and clenched her fists by her side, as if in anger. Her gray hair shrunk and turned a shocking pink color, she fell about three inches and the wrinkles she previously possessed disappeared, revealing a fresh, young complexion instead. But her auburn eyes remained, and glittered from the distance. It was then that the boy realized who this woman was; Nymphadora Tonks, an Auror.

Panic instantly seized him as she began walking in his direction, pulling out the wand that she was hiding in her overcoat pockets. She pointed it at him menacingly with one hand, and held the other to her mouth once more. "Mad-Eye, I've got him on Knockturn and Diagon," she declared to her palm.

The boy, wide-eyed and panting with distress, stumbled backwards into the Alley, only to bump into the tall and bulky forms of two other Aurors. He whirled around. Mad-Eye Moody's electric eye was upon him and his misshapen slit of a mouth was curled into a sick grin. Kingsley Shaklebolt stood beside Moody, his muscled forearms crossed in front of him, sharing the same victorious expression as his fellow Auror.

"We've got you, Riddle," Moody growled, wand in hand. "Just come quietly and we won't have to use our wands on you."

Tonks was closing in on him from behind. The black sky behind her made her obnoxious hair stand out even more. Tiny red sparks were emitting out of the tip of her wand, which told the boy that the Aurors were prepared to Stun him should he decide to do a runner. The rain was pounding heavily against the pavement beneath them and a crack of thunder issued somewhere in the night above. Shaklebolt took some Unbreakable Handcuffs out from the inside of his robes, ready to attached them round the young man's wrists.

"Well," said Moody in a low voice, "how's it going to be, Riddle?" The boy shot a venomous glare at gnarled man. "If you run," Moody added, "we _will_ find you."

He fingered his wand inside of his jacket, trying so very hard not to whip it out and perform the Cruciatus Curse on the old Auror, a tempting urge. To hell with giving in, the boy thought. He had a mission to carry out, and he would see it through. Without so much as a blink on his part, the young man shouted, "_Fumaris_!" and a great cloud of smoke surfaced from out of nowhere, making his attempted arresters cough and sputter while he did a bunk, sprinting as fast as his long legs would take him, which was fortunately, quick enough.

And so he darted down Diagon Alley, the popular Wizarding shops and boutiques, now closed at this time of night, blended together in a blur of their blue and black nighttime colors as he ran. The wind pelted hard raindrops at his cheeks but the intense stamina pumping through his veins would not allow him to brush the painful drizzle away from his visage. His raven locks fell into his eyes even more, screening his vision. He remarkably made it to the Leaky Cauldron in minute's time, where the warmth from inside called to him, beckoning him. He ambled up the steps and pushed open the great green door.

The pleasant sound of glasses clinking together was instant relief to his pounding ears and a strong smell of bubbling butterbeer hung in the air. As he passed the witches and wizards lined up along the bar, he scrutinized guiltily about how he would like to finish off one of those sweet, nutty drinks, especially when the weather was so nasty like it was. But instead of taking a seat at the bar, he pushed through the crowds of people, propping his jacket collar up so as not to be recognized by anyone from the Ministry.

"_Excuse_ you, young man," huffed a middle-aged witch whom he unintentionally staggered onto. Ignoring her comment, he continued to dodge parties until he found the back door and regrettably nudged it open, exposing a gush of cold air.

And this, my friends, is where we started; on the same back alley on the same day at the same time. Same weather, still raining cats and dogs, and the boy, still irritated and soaked to the bone. So here it is, a story to break the mold, beginning and ending with rain; that solemn, tranquil, unforgiving, mostly harsh, sky juice.

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**Heyyy again. So... you've read the first chapter, now... I wonder what shall you do... eyes the little purple button (ahem)... What? You still don't get it? Ugh. READ & REVIEW, kind people. If I don't get some feedback, I will be sad. Sad doesn't look good on me, and it doesn't help me to write any better so PLEASE, people. Okay?**

**xoxo etc. -J **


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